Drowsy Halls Of Man Poem by Aaron Lynn

Within the drowsy halls of man,
The sacred winds may whistle through.
Which rustle leaves and scatter sands
And spread the scent of morning dew.

But man, asleep, could feel no breeze
As life itself erodes and stales.
He seeks out no immortal seas,
Nor heeds the breath of ancient gales.

The drowsy man, with ego strong,
Contemplates not a higher will,
But bares his teeth at holy song
With haughty peers and voices shrill.

Some paths are just not meant for all.
On other paths they will proceed;
The roads bereft of yonder dreams,
Of gnosis and devoted creed.

Upon those paths I long did trod
Before I strayed on darkened roads
That shattered preconceived facades
I had about life's vast abode.

Within the drowsy halls of man,
If one would wake deeply inspired,
He'd seek beyond his yawning clan
With doubt and hubris on the pyre.